This discourse might have gone further, but that the company presently parted, to know the meaning of a sudden noise and clatter they heard, that half-deafened the auditory. And what was it at last? but a scuffle between the Gown-men and the Brothers of the Blade; and there were persons of great honour and learning, young and old, engaged in the fray; the men of war were at it dashing with their swords, and the gentlemen of the long robe, fencing, some with tostatus, others with huge pandects, that with their old wainscot covers were as good as bucklers, and would now and then give the foe a heavy rebuke, over and above. The combat had certainly been very bloody, if one of Lucifer’s constables had not commanded them in the king’s name to keep the peace; which made it a drawn battle. And with that, one of the combatants, with the best face he had, said aloud, “If ye knew, gentlemen, either us, or our quarrel, you’d say we had reason, and perhaps side with us.” At that instant, there appeared Domitian, Commodus, Caracalla, Phalaris, Heliogabalus, Alcetes, Andronicus, Busiris, and old Oliver, with a world of great personages more; which, when Lucifer saw, he disposed himself to treat that majestical appearance, as much to their satisfaction as was possible. And then came up a grave ancient man, with a great train at his heels, that were all bloody, and full of the marks they had received under the persecution of these tyrants.
“You have here before ye,” quoth the old man, “Solon; and these are the seven sages, native of Greece, but renowned throughout the universe. He there in the mortar is that Anaxarchus that was pounded to death by command of Nicocreon. He with the flat nose is Socrates; the little crump-shouldered wretch was the famous Aristotle; and t’other there, the divine Plato. Those in the corner are all of the same profession too, grave and learned philosophers, that have displeased tyrants with their writings; and, in fine, the world is stored with their works and hell with the authors. To come to the point, most mighty Lucifer, we are all of us dealers in politics, great writers and deep-read men in the maxims of State and Government. We have digested policy into a method, and laid down certain rules, by which princes may make themselves great and beloved. We have advised them impartially to administer justice; to reward virtue, as well military as civil; to employ able men, banish flatterers; to put men of wisdom and integrity in places of trust; to reward or punish without passion, and according to the merits of the cause, as God’s vice-gerents. And this now is our offence. We name no body, we design no body; but ’tis crime enough to wish well to the way and to the lovers of virtue.” With that, turning toward the tyrants. “Oh most unjust princes,” said he, “those glorious kings and emperors from whom we took the model of our laws and instructions are now in a state of rest and comfort, while you are tormented. Numa is now a star in the firmament and Tarquin a fire-brand in hell. And the memory of Augustus and Trajan is still fresh and fragrant, when the names of Nero and Sardanapalus are more putrid and odious than their bodies.”